Stages of Christmas
by KaitheHotHead1
Summary: Sherlock and John are spending Christmas together after Mary has run off with David, while carrying David's baby. After that whole fiasco, Sherlock feels pressured to fix things again with John, but how can he do that when Sherlock's more than certainly fallen in love with him? Some romantic tropes and cliches. Merry Christmas!


**1- A Phone Call**

"I'm telling you, Harry," John said, balancing his phone on his shoulder while holding a biscuit. "I don't think I'm going to be able to make it to your house party. I'm spending Christmas with Sherlock this year."

He could hear his sister, Harry, scoff on the other end of the line. "Are you serious?" she said with disbelief. "You're choosing your boyfriend over your own little sister?"

John rolled his eyes insufferably, taking the phone from his shoulder and into his hand so he could speak clearly into it.

"Sherlock is not my boyfriend," John stated firmly. "I've told you that before."

"Yes, I know, I know, you're not gay," Harry said breezily, and John could practically see her wave her hand sarcastically. "Not necessarily, anyway."

"What? Necessarily? What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, nothing," Harry was obviously smiling. "It just takes one to know one, you know? Especially since I've read your blog."

John furled his eyebrows. "My blog?" John asked. "What's my blog got to do with anything?"

Harry sighed wistfully as if she was talking about her favorite movie. "It's just so romantic, Johnny. I mean, the way that you talk about him. It's the kind of the way I would have talked about Clara."

John shook his head. "Right, we're getting off topic here, Harry," he interrupted, confused as to why he was even talking about this with his sister. "Bottom line is, I'm spending Christmas with Sherlock. Platonically."

"Aw, come on!" Harry whined stubbornly. "My party's going to be great. It's on Eastcastle Street. Just a train ride away."

"Yes, I know," John replied noncommittally. "I'll try to make it."

"Right," said Harry in a knowing tone. "That is if your husband even wants to socialize with other people,right?'

John ignored her insinuations this time. "Right, it's just that we were planning on having some of our friends over from Scotland Yard on Christmas Eve. I just don't think that I'm going to have the time."

"Okay, fine," Harry said. "But just so you know, my party's on Christmas Day. The day after yours. So if you're not too hung over on eggnog or some of that delicious whiskey you've got over there, then drop by at the party. We'd love to see you over here."

"I'll think about it."

"Good. Well, I've got to go now, need to get to work. We can talk later, though, can't we?"

John smiled over the phone, a small smirk on the speaker. "Yes, definitely. I'll see you later," he said.

"See you, Johnny."

John pressed the 'end call' button, and he slipped his phone away into his pocket. He drank his tea carefully, looking out into the snow that was falling steadily right outside his window.

**2- Winter Wonderland**

The snow had stopped after a few hours, leaving a white blanket over the landscape of the street. Cars plowed through, pushing the snow aside, and pedestrians left footprints behind as they bustled around the city with their Christmas shopping. Lights twinkled from shops, and Christmas trees towered over busy ice rinks.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, wrapping his scarf tighter around himself and stuffing his gloved hands underneath his arms.

"Why are we out here again?" Sherlock asked, looking around the park with distaste, and at the snow that seemed to be covering the entire thing like a blanket.

John turned to Sherlock with a slightly annoyed look. "Because we haven't been out of the house in three days, Sherlock," John told him. "And it's just days before Christmas and I want to experience the winter."

Sherlock resisted rolling his eyes in the boredom of it all. "Do calm down, John," Sherlock droned. "Winter will be lasting for ages."

"Not Christmas." John pointed out, looking up at him. "Besides, these lights won't be out forever, and you know that Christmas has got a certain feeling to it. I'd like it if I wouldn't miss it."

Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets. He did have to admit that John was right about that. Christmas did have some sort of spirit about it, and if Sherlock wasn't the logical man that he was today, he would almost describe it as magic.

It was the first Christmas after Mary had left John, and had taken her ex-boyfriend (now current) David's baby with her. All that remained of her was the painful bullet scar on Sherlock's chest and an obvious deep pit of regret in John's.

Now less than a year later, John and Sherlock had patched up their friendship, and they had gone on without another word, without another glance at their past. It was as if everything was back to the way it was.

Except, it wasn't.

At that moment, Sherlock looked over at John, who had gone quiet and was looking at the scenery around them. Children were participating in snowball fights, yelling and screaming with glee. Parents looked on, dressed warmly in scarves and coats, smiling happily at their children from afar. Couples walked hand in hand, kicking playfully at the cold snow, and beaming at each other with bright eyes and soft smiles.

Sherlock couldn't hold back a surge of emotion that went straight through him as he looked down at John, strolling through the park. It was something that had been happening quite often for a long time, almost since the day they had met. Something was different about John, something that made Sherlock feel inexplicably drawn to him. And Sherlock dared to think that John felt the same way.

It really was no secret that Sherlock cared for John and that John cared for Sherlock. It had always been some sort of understanding between them. But it was John that would occupy most of Sherlock's thoughts, and it was John whom Sherlock would do anything for.

Sherlock shut his eyes and shook his head at himself, trying to release his stupid thoughts. Stupid emotions.

"Hey, you alright?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock with concern, and it was then that Sherlock realized that he had been staring at John and shaking his head. "Do you want to go home?"

Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets. "No," he said. "Let's just get out of the park."

John looked at Sherlock a moment and nodded, stuffing his own hands into the pockets of his coat and walking off of the sidewalk.

"So where do you want to go?" John asked. "There are shops at the corner over here. We can grab a coffee or something. Warm ourselves up."

But then Sherlock's phone chimed, and Sherlock pulled his phone out from his pocket. A text had appeared on the screen. A text from Lestrade.

**An old woman has been robbed on Delancy Street. Everything's been taken.**

**May need your expertise on this one.**

"Who is it?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock from the corner of his eye.

"It's Lestrade," Sherlock replied, snapping his phone shut. "It's a case. Someone's been robbed."

"Maybe we could go. We haven't had one in weeks."

"It's a robbery, John. It's a five at most."

"Doesn't matter. Someone's been robbed at Christmas. I'm going. Where is it?"

Sherlock looked at John, and couldn't help letting himself stare into the other man's eyes. John was so fascinating, so thoughtful; Sherlock found himself having to restrain the urge to pull John in by his lapels and kiss him right there in the snow.

"It's two blocks over." Sherlock finally said after a moment. "Just across the park."

John shrugged his shoulders, a smile coming to his face. "Well, let's go, then. I'll text Greg we're on our way."

**3- Oh Christmas Tree**

Hours later, after the case, John opened the door into the flat, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No. I don't buy it, Sherlock," John declared. "The woman knows exactly who robbed her."

Sherlock nodded as he shut the door with his foot. "She's hiding something, obviously," he said, and John turned to face him.

"Do you think she's trying to fool us, or...I don't know, maybe just senile?"

Sherlock stalked over to the couch and flopped his entire body down on the cushions.

"No, definitely not, if her wardrobe and her living state were anything to go on," Sherlock replied indifferently. "It's likely that she knows exactly who committed the crime but just wants the attention. I just need time to think."

"Well, while you do that," John said, shaking the keys in his hand. "I'm going out to get a Christmas tree. Our Christmas party's in a few days, and we haven't even gotten around to it yet."

"Our Christmas party?"

"Yes, Sherlock, remember?" John said with annoyance. "We're bringing the Yard over on Christmas Eve. I brought it up to you two days ago."

"Oh yes, I must have forgotten."

"You're a prat, you know that?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

John chuckled. "Right. I'm out. I'll be back in a bit."

As John left the flat, Sherlock closed his eyes, listening for the sound of John's footsteps as they retreated down the seventeen steps of the building. Then the door closed, and John was gone.

Sherlock inhaled deeply. Pressed his fingers together. Closed his eyes.

Then the world faded away.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Sherlock exited his mind to the annoying sound of the rustling of leaves, and grunts of struggle and frustration. He quickly sat up, wondering where the commotion was coming from.

Then that's when Sherlock realized that the noise was coming from right there in his living room, and John was the one causing it.

A tall Christmas tree was set up in the middle of the room, with lights strung together at the base, a rope of bright orbs coiled at the floor and wrapped halfway up the tree.

Sherlock tried to hold back from chuckling as he watched John try to stretch his small body to the top of the tree so the lights would reach it. It looked comical, like a little hedgehog trying to climb a tree.

"Come on." John was grumbling, trying to whip the lights upward to compensate for his short height. "Just hang already."

Sherlock got up from the couch, a smile coming to his face. "Here, he said, laughing. "Let me."

John turned around as if startled to hear his flatmate's voice, and he conceded defeat.

"Fine, yes, thank you," John said, handing the lights over to Sherlock. "Just...just twirl it around the leaves."

Sherlock reached his long arms above him, easily reaching, and he dragged it around the tall tree.

"Why did you get it so tall?" Sherlock asked, amusement still in his voice. John let out a laugh.

"I haven't got a clue," said John, holding back a grin. "It looked a lot shorter down at the shop."

This somehow sparked a laughing fit, and soon they were both giggling hard, and it took Sherlock a lot of effort to keep his focus on the lights. The energy in the room immediately felt considerably lighter, and Sherlock's eyes fell on John's.

But then Sherlock's foot caught in the rope of lights that hung down on the ground, and Sherlock tripped, nearly falling forward, dropping the lights tangled in his hands. Quickly, Sherlock tried to lean back to steady himself, but he leaned back much too far. His fingers slipped as they tried to grab on to the mantlepiece.

Then John immediately lunged forward and caught Sherlock in his arms, and Sherlock immediately grasped at the back of John's neck, stumbling on his feet, trying to keep from falling to the ground. John's arms held him tightly.

"Sherlock." John breathed from above him. "You okay?"

Sherlock looked up at him, and suddenly he realized the position that they were both in. John practically had his arms wrapped around Sherlock's waist and torso, keeping him up, and Sherlock had his arms draped around John's neck and shoulders, their bodies pressed flush together.

Suddenly, everything was very quiet, and time seemed to slow down. John visibly gulped, his Adam's apple nervously bobbing as he stared down intensely into Sherlock's eyes.

Then that's when Sherlock realized he still had yet to answer John's question.

"No, no, I'm-I'm fine." Sherlock croaked, and his hands inexplicably tightened on John's shoulders. John cleared his throat.

"Right, okay, good." John rasped. "Right. Let me, um..."

John slowly helped Sherlock to his feet, John's arms still wrapped securely around Sherlock's waist, and Sherlock's still around John's shoulders. Their faces were inches apart, so close that Sherlock could feel John's breath hot on his cheek.

"Thank you," Sherlock said awkwardly, not quite knowing what else to say.

John nodded his head vigorously, suddenly acting quiet, as if he was at a loss for words.

"It's all...fine," he said, looking up into Sherlock's eyes. "Any-" he cleared his throat. "Anytime."

Neither of them moved away, and Sherlock found that he was having a lot of trouble breathing. Because their arms were still around each other, and neither of them had found the need to move yet.

Then the sound of a phone ringing broke the air like a knife, and Sherlock's face reddened. The noise was incessant, like the sound of a screaming child.

"I should...probably get that," Sherlock said, immediately putting distance between them.

"Right, yeah," John said, snapping his hands away as if he had been touching fire. "It's-it's probably Lestrade about the case."

His heart still pounding, Sherlock took the phone from his pocket and flipped it open, and took the chance to walk across the room and as far away from John as possible.

**4- A Christmas Party**

John pulled the cookies out of the oven carefully and closed the door with his foot. Smoke rose up from the baked goods, spreading a delicious aroma around the room. John inhaled deeply, quietly.

"They smell good," Sherlock said suddenly, and John looked up to find him leaning against the doorpost and watching John.

John cleared his throat. "Right, well I hope so," he said. "Our guests are going to be here any moment."

Unable to meet Sherlock's eyes for any longer, John looked away, trying to focus on setting the cookies on the burner.

"Need help?" Sherlock asked, pushing himself from the doorpost and walking over to John. He stood several feet from him, with Sherlock obviously holding himself back out of wariness.

"No, no I'm good, thanks," John said, a little too quickly. "You can...um...just make sure everything is clean for everyone else when they arrive."

After a long moment, Sherlock stepped farther away, walking across the kitchen. John let out a sigh of relief, relaxing his tense shoulders.

It had been like that for the past few days, ever since the Incident had happened. With the Christmas tree.

John hadn't been able to think of anything else except Sherlock dipped in his arms, catching him in just a moment in time, in the middle of the air. After they were interrupted by Greg's call, they had investigated the case together. Since then, they both moved cautiously around each other, as if they were trying not to set off a bomb.

John shook his head in an attempt to free himself of his thoughts, and he pulled out the tube of decorative icing for the cookies. He just wanted to take his mind off of the whole thing.

But as John was unscrewing the cap of the treat icing, he glanced up at Sherlock, who was sitting still with his eyes closed in his armchair, thinking intently. His face was still, smooth, calm, and ultimately very attractive.

John swallowed the emotion in his throat. Why did it have to be Sherlock Holmes whom he was attracted to? Why did it always have to be Sherlock, with his perfect face and his perfect hair and his perfect -

The icing cap suddenly broke beneath John's hands and the tube squeezed, making the contents spill all over the table and just-finished cookies.

John swore loudly and immediately ran around the table to grab paper towels to clean up the mess. The icing had gotten all over the floor, like sticky concentrated soup spreading along the tiles.

Then suddenly, Sherlock was kneeling down on the floor with John, pressing a wet towel in a helpful attempt to mop up the mess.

"Sorry," John sighed, his eyes cast to the floor. "Accident."

"It's fine," Sherlock said, looking up at John briefly.

It was silent after that, the two men just scrubbing the floor as efficiently as possible, trying to get the sticky frosting out of the pathway.

John looked up, stealing a glance at Sherlock for a quick second, and then immediately cast his eyes downwards. He curled his lips as if it would keep himself from saying or doing anything stupid to worsen the tension between them.

After half a minute had passed, John moved to look at Sherlock again and was shocked to see that Sherlock was already looking at him.

John stopped scrubbing. He stared back, his eyes delving deep into Sherlock's intense orbs.

Neither of them moved for a long moment. They were very close to each other, kneeling on the floor on their hands and knees. The silence was deafening; like they each wanted to say something but couldn't.

Sherlock looked at John like he was trying to figure him out, like John was a fascinating puzzle, messing with his mind, trying to find out what John might do next.

John licked his lips, an unconscious move, his nerves buzzing inside of him.

"Sher-"

A loud and obnoxious knock came just then, followed by Mrs. Hudson's high and excited voice.

"Boys! Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called through the closed door. "Your guests are here!"

John shut his eyes tightly. "We'll be right there, Mrs. Hudson!" John called back.

He opened his eyes again, and met with Sherlock's gaze, staring back at him hard. Then he stood up, making his way to the door, leaving Sherlock alone on the kitchen floor.

* * *

Lights decorated the mantles, and the flat was filled with merry decorations and the delicious smell of cakes and biscuits. Lestrade was standing with Molly Hooper and Sally Donovan, drinking eggnog and hot chocolate, chattering indistinctly by the fireplace.

Sherlock stood to the side, his violin in hand, softly playing Christmas carols over the conversations. His eyes seemed to always gravitate to John, who was smiling and laughing with a pretty new officer from Scotland Yard. She was leaning far too close to John for Sherlock's liking, and her smile was flirty and absolutely disgusting.

Sherlock quickly turned away from John, his body heating up with jealousy, and he could feel his heart sink. He stood facing the window overlooking Baker Street, where the snow was coming down hard, covering the entire road with a thick layer of white.

There was a knock at the door, and John immediately stood up to answer it. Sherlock watched, and he saw the female police officer shamelessly check out John's arse. Sherlock gritted his teeth.

John opened the door, and when he saw who was standing there, his jaw dropped. He opened the door wider.

"Oh my god," John said to the new guest. "You came."

"Merry Christmas, little brother!" Harry Watson greeted enthusiastically. "What, did you think I'd miss Johnny Boy on Christmas?"

John laughed heartily, and welcomed her in. "Everyone! This is my sister, Harriet!"

Everyone immediately gave a loud cheer, crowding around John and shaking Harry's hand. Most of them hadn't even known that John had a sister.

Everyone except for Sherlock, of course.

Sherlock watched heatedly as everybody crowded around his own flatmate, and his own flatmate's sister that wasn't even that pretty. Sherlock angrily stared, his violin clutched tightly in his hands.

Sherlock crossed the room in record time, swinging his coat over his shoulders.

"Right, I'm going out," Sherlock muttered to himself, and he rushed forward toward the door.

Sherlock saw Harry come up to him, her arms outstretched. "Sherlock!" she was saying. "Nice to finally meet you! John's been on and on-"

"That's nice, get out of my way," Sherlock ordered her, and he shoved her aside more forcefully than he'd intended. She gave a soft grunt as she hit the wall, and she stared after him with affrontation.

"What the hell?" she bit off, and John looked up.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock was already out the door by the time John had grabbed his own jacket and tugged it on, running down the stairs as he followed Sherlock out into the snow.

The detective was already stalking down the street and trying to wave down a cab when John came up to him, his fists clenched.

"Sherlock!" John called after him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Getting a cab," Sherlock snarked. "What do you think?"

"I think you're being a prat, is what I think!"

"Oh, do calm down, John, it's not healthy to get so worked up."

"It wouldn't be healthy if I punched you in the face right at this moment." John snapped back. "Now apologize to my sister!"

"Why would I?"

John huffed a sharp breath. "I thought you were better than this, Sherlock."

"Well, clearly, you were wrong. Like you usually are."

John gritted his teeth. "Where is all of this coming from?"

"It really doesn't matter, does it, John?" Sherlock glanced at him. "But then again, I suppose you already know what that feels like."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"No, it seems like this Christmas really painted it out for me. You would rather chat up a storm with that cat-owner police officer than with me, and invite all of these people to our flat without really planning ahead."

"Sherlock-"

"Do you know what your sister has been up to yet today, John? Because I could tell from the smell of the pubs of London all over her coat, clearer than her severe case of halitosis that's been brewing in her horrid mouth for years. I can see her recent and disappointing affairs through her poorly groomed hairstyle, and the sloppily-wrapped presents in her gift bags."

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm warning you-"

"But your sister is just the beginning, isn't it? No. Because you never saw it. You never see any of it. I'm the one that's the genius, and I never needed you John. There's nothing wrong with me, because all I want this come Christmas is for you to be gone!"

The words came out before Sherlock could think, and he wanted to grab himself and stop himself before he could say another word. But it was already far too late.

John had frozen right in his spot, his face completely lax and devoid of emotion. Sherlock could recognize John's soldier complexion anywhere, and Sherlock realized that he'd really made a grave mistake.

"Fine." John finally spoke. "Fine. If that's how you really feel, Sherlock. I'll go."

"John-"

"No. Don't." John held up a hand. "You've really gone too far this time, Sherlock. Not to worry, though. I'll be gone by Christmas morning. Then you can get your bloody stupid holiday wish."

Sherlock watched as John walked back into the flat, and he couldn't help but flinch as the door slammed shut after him.

**5- Merry Christmas**

Sherlock sat alone in the dark flat on Christmas Day, the sun setting behind him as it slowly sunk into the horizon. He sighed, bringing the cigarette closely to his lips.

John, as promised, had left as soon as the sun rose on Christmas morning. He didn't bother to take his presents with him, or to give any to Sherlock. It was an empty flat all day as the holiday passed by.

Sherlock blew out the smoke calmly as he lay in his chair, staring deeply at John's empty one. He traced the pattern with his eyes, studying the unique color and appearance like he did when John was there.

But it was no use. Sherlock's mind kept returning to his estranged flatmate, the one that he had ultimately driven away.

It was wrong. It was so wrong.

Sherlock sighed heavily, feeling his eyes become warm with moisture.

All he ever really wanted was for John to be happy, and he hated himself for getting so carried away. If only he wasn't in love with John Watson, he wouldn't have been so scared and let his emotions overcome the power of his mind.

The realization hit Sherlock so hard that he let out a gasp, and his eyes flew open as if he was just shot.

Oh my god. That was it.

He was in love with John Watson

Sherlock drew his hands to his face in absolute frustration and pity for himself.

How could he have been so blind?

Sherlock jumped up to his feet, shrugging on his coat again, bounding down the stairs as he tugged it on over his shoulders.

Sherlock had to tell him. He just had to. That was the last thing he'd do before anything else could occur. Sherlock had to tell him.

The cold air slapped Sherlock in the face as he opened the door, and Sherlock could only lift a hand against the strong wind as he made his way down Baker Street.

He pushed people aside as he rushed down the sidewalk, his coat billowing behind him as he panted with exertion.

"Eastcastle, Eastcastle…" Sherlock muttered to himself. "The street. Must find the street."

He must find John.

Sherlock ran through the streets of London, fighting past fast-going cars threatening to run him over, and 'DONT WALK' street signs flashing in his eyes.

He didn't care. He couldn't care less.

Only John was what really mattered.

Sherlock searched left and right, his eyes scanning the entire sidewalk area, looking for that one address.

Then he found it.

The address showed on a big red door, decorated with just a simple wreath and ornaments that complemented the otherwise bland object.

Sherlock took a deep breath, carrying himself over to the door. He wasn't even sure what he was meant to do; he just knew that he didn't want to spend another Christmas moment without his John.

Sherlock rang once, anxiously. Then he rang twice.

Three times.

Then he resorted to knocking.

The door finally flew open, making Sherlock's heart jump with soaring hope.

"Right, is John there?" Sherlock asked.

It was a woman standing at the door, no older than twenty-five, looking at Sherlock like he had grown five heads.

"Um, well, I don't know a John," said the woman. "Unless you're talking about Harry's little brother?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Yes that's him. Can you just...tell him that Sherlock's here to see him?"

"Margaret, what's the commotion out here…" Harry looked once at Sherlock and physically pushed him away.

"Harry, wait, please."

"Sherlock Holmes. You're not welcome here."

"I know, I know, and I apologize for shoving you—"

"Shoving me?!" Harry shouted. "Give me a break! I've gotten worse when I stole Johnny's action figures when we were little rug rats!"

"Then what's—"

"I'll tell you what you did, Sherlock!" Harry interrupted with a sigh. "You broke my brother's heart."

"I what?"

"He loved you, you know," Harry responded. "And then you go and you say all those mean things to him, and you expect him to forgive you so quickly?"

Sherlock looked down at the ground. "I don't expect John to do anything more for me."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Then why are you here?"

Sherlock inhaled sharply. He looked at Harry.

Then his face fell as John came into view, looking between Harry and the door, his eyes landing on Sherlock.

John and Sherlock stared at each other for what felt like ages, leaving Sherlock with nothing to do but forget what he was meant to say.

"Sherlock, answer her," John said, his voice soft. "Why are you here?"

"John, I…" Sherlock paused. He swallowed. "I've just got something to tell you and I've got to say it quickly."

John ushered. "Go on, then."

Sherlock looked to Harry, and she nodded. Harryleft without another word.

John watched her leave, his brows wrinkling as he tried to put two and two together. "I don't understand Sherlock. I thought that…"

"I was wrong, John."

Sherlock looked at him, and John looked back in shock. He stepped down from the door sill, closing Harry's door behind him.

"Well that's new."

"Just...please, let me talk."

"Okay."

Sherlock walked closer to John, trying to gauge his flatmate's expressions. The snow fell around them like a flurry of ice, surrounding them until they were the only ones left in the world.

"John, listen, um…" Sherlock paused. "For a long time now, you were always considered my only friend. And for that I appreciated you, because you helped me with everything that I worked for. Even if you were just an average goldfish."

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock," John said rubbing his face. "Can't you just say you're sorry? Something that actually means something? For God's sake, cut to the point, without leaving me—"

"I'm in love with you."

John froze in place, looking up at Sherlock in absolute shock. Sherlock shifted into his feet, staring into John's eyes with sheer desperation.

"What did you just say?" John croaked.

"I said," Sherlock repeated softly. "I'm in love with you. John. Watson."

"What?"

"It's a bit of a revelation, I know," Sherlock whispered. "But I realized it today when I had spent all of Christmas with myself and all I could think about was having you there."

"I can't believe this."

"I know."

"You're in love with me?"

"Obviously."

John let out a disbelieving laugh, and Sherlock chuckled too, a burst of air from his nostrils. He looked at John tenderly, furling his lips in anticipation.

John whispered, "I don't know what to say."

"I understand if you don't want to see me again." Sherlock murmured towards him. "I just realized that it's Christmas, and it's more of a time for miracles than any other time, so I just thought—"

"Sherlock, shut up."

John grabbed his face and kissed him, making Sherlock startled as he stumbled on his feet. He felt John's hands come around to steady him, and Sherlock kissed back, his arms coming around John's torso.

The kiss was deep and cold, with John's lips taking full advantage of Sherlock's lavish and supple ones. Sherlock moaned into his mouth, clutching on to John's jacket to assure himself of reality.

John was the first to break for air, and Sherlock gasped for breath. John laughed, his hands curling into Sherlock's hair.

"You really do love me, then, don't you?" John asked, looking up at him.

"Yes." Sherlock said desperately. "More than I can express."

"Well, then," John huffed a laugh. "That's the best news that I've heard in a long time."

"So you do—"

"Yes, you bloody prat, I'm in love with you too."

Sherlock kissed John again, chasing the laughter from the shorter man's lips. John wrapped his arms completely around Sherlock's neck, drawing them both closer. Sherlock grinned against his mouth, and John let out another laugh.

A couple of minutes passed by as they both finally made up for lost time in the middle of the empty sidewalk, with Sherlock wrapping them both in his long coat, and John burrowing himself into Sherlock's chest.

It was a while before they pulled apart, and they finally noticed the rest of Harry's guests staring out of the window with tears in their eyes, cheering hysterically.

John blushed, thoroughly embarrassed, watching Harry cheer harder from the open window.

"That's my brother!" Harry cried, throwing her arms up in celebration. "That's my brother, I tell you!"

Sherlock laughed too, grabbing onto John's hand, and feeling incandescently happy.

**6- Epilogue**

"TWENTY-EIGHT! TWENTY-SEVEN! TWENTY-SIX!"

"Sherlock, it's starting!"

"You don't have to shout, John, I'm right here."

"Well sometimes you're bloody easy to miss."

"Impossible, John, especially since I'm tall enough to hang you on the bloody Christmas tree."

John rolled his eyes lovingly at the detective next to him, and Sherlock smirked down at him, leaning down and pressing a small kiss to the doctor's lips. John chuckled against him.

"Oi! Get a room!"

"People do eat in here, you know!"

John grabbed a piece of his sandwich and hurled it at Greg and Harry, who immediately ducked to miss it. They laughed as they continued to sip their eggnog.

"Save it for New Year's, John," Sherlock scolded, but his face was wide with a smile, his eyes shining like the Christmas lights in front of them.

"Make me, you prat," John laughed, his hand pressed against Sherlock's back.

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"SEVEN! SIX!"

John then leaned forward, feeling Sherlock look down at him, feeling John whisper the rest of the countdown against Sherlock's lips.

"Three...two…"

Sherlock smiled, and he finished it with a soft breath.

"One."

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

John leaped forwards, allowing Sherlock to catch him in a hug and kiss him, both of them laughing into it like a couple of children. Both of them had tears in their eyes, but they'd never, ever say so.

"I love you."

Sherlock grinned happily. "I know."

Harry started singing first, and then Greg followed, in singing "Auld Lang Syne" at the top of their lungs. The rest of the guests immediately joined in, swaying to the music.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot…"

"And never brought to light…"

Sherlock leaned his forehead against John's, closing his eyes as he basked in the man's warmth.

"Happy New Year, John."

"Happy New Year, Sherlock."


End file.
